


Adolescence

by denounce



Series: People Like Us [2]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Love, in the 30s i guess? sorry if it's not super accurate!, the disillusionment of american teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14168472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denounce/pseuds/denounce
Summary: Stories from the high school years.





	Adolescence

**Author's Note:**

> changed formatting to get rid of the song titles and lyrics used throughout the chapter, just to allow myself more freedom when continuing this!

Cole shuts his eyes tight as Marie kisses him, pressing herself up to him and inadvertently pinning him to the driver’s side door. _Is this what I want?_ he finds himself thinking, his hands hovering precariously over her back while her hands pull at the buttons of his uniform shirt. Three down the collar. _Is this what I want?_ Marie moves even closer to him, but he still feels cold— he’s getting nothing out of this. No excitement, no sparks, no flames, not even a flash of heat. _Is this what I want?_  He doesn’t open his eyes. He _can’t_ open his eyes, but by God, he wants to. Whatever _this_ is, it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right how she’s halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, or how her lips are firmly against his, or how he’s kissing back, or how the image of his friend Richie is projected on the inside of his eyelids—

Suddenly, he pushes her away— gently, despite the panic in his heart. He watches her face change from shock to confusion, waiting patiently for an answer. Cole inhales shakily. “I can’t do this,” he says finally, eyes wide and frantic, “I’m— I’m not ready.”

“Oh,” Marie says, her voice soft, “it’s okay.” She moves away from him, settling back into the passenger’s seat and smoothing out her skirt. Cole’s buttoning his shirt back up when she speaks again. “I’m not ready either, but I thought that’s what all boys want.”

 _If only you knew._ Cole shakes his head, pushing that thought far below, into the abyss of his mind. “Not all of us,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “I don’t blame you, though.” He breathes out a sigh of relief as soon as every button is buttoned, every wrinkle smoothed. _Like it never happened._ He glances over to Marie. “Do you want to go home?”

Silently, Marie nods. Her eyes are on the window, focused on the stains of raindrops. “Yes,” she whispers, “please.”

Cole feels a pang in his heart as he turns over the engine, his grip on the steering wheel going tight when the car rumbles to life under him. He shuts his eyes— Richie is there, but he doesn’t know why. His eyes snap open. “Marie,” he glances towards her, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Marie’s hand goes up to trace the faded web-like trails of old rain, and when they pull out of the parking lot a street light illuminates her. She has that usual look on her face— not quite there, as if she’s watching the world through a lens. “I told you I wasn’t ready, too. I’m glad we didn’t.”

Cole just nods, biting his tongue to refrain from apologizing again. “Okay,” he says, staring straight forward as they drive in silence. He rounds a corner, snapping out of his thoughts when a tire rolls over the curb. It’s then that he realizes he’s shaking— only his hands, but still…

“Do we mean something to each other?”

Cole looks over at that, but Marie hasn’t moved, leaning her head against the window and tapping on the glass. He swallows hard and turns his focus back to the road. “What do you mean?”

Marie lets her eyes flutter shut. “I mean it the way I said it,” she says, opening them and— she’s staring at Cole now. It makes him uncomfortable. “Do I mean something to you?”

“Of course you do,” Cole answers instinctively, but he knows that the answer is _'no.'_ He bites his tongue again— harder this time, reveling in the grounding taste of iron in his mouth. “Do _I_ mean something to you?”

Marie dips her head in a nod. “More than you know.” She goes quiet after that. Cole doesn’t say anything in response, keeping his eyes forward and his jaw clenched. Somehow, hearing her say that just makes him feel worse. He doesn’t know _how—_ he should feel thankful that somebody loves him. But the more he thinks about it, the more he imagines Richie saying that. He imagines Richie in the car with him— he imagines Richie kissing him, pushing him against the door, and how he wouldn’t say no that time.

“Cole,” Marie’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “You missed the turn.”

Cole takes a moment to respond. “...I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Marie straightens up, staring at him with those dull green eyes. “You just have to think about it before you speak.”

Cole only nods, sparing her a glance and— quickly looking away. “I suppose,” he mumbles, leaving it at that.

The rest of the drive is silent. When they get there, they’re still silent. No goodbyes, nothing. Marie just leaves and lets Cole sit there by himself, his hands shaking and his eyes wide as he stares straight ahead. The house lights eventually turn off, and that’s what shocks him back to reality. Inhaling sharply, he turns the engine back over and begins to drive away.

He decides to call Richie tomorrow.

 

* * *

  ****

Cigarette between his teeth, Richie holds out his lighter to light Cole’s. “So,” he starts, flicking it shut and shoving it in his blazer. “Your date with Marie.” He takes a long drag, blowing out a plume of smoke.

Cole looks up at him, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders. “What about it?”

Richie snorts. “I think you know what I’m asking about, Cole,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “How was she?”

“Oh,” Cole says, quietly. There’s a long moment of silence between them, Cole staring out of his bedroom window and Richie sitting on his bed, watching him with the same patient eyes Marie had. “We—” He exhales sharply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his head against the wall. “We didn’t do anything. Neither of us were ready.”

Richie opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it without a word. “You alright?” He reaches out to put a hand on Cole’s shoulder, pulling back when he winces away. “Uh— sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cole says, taking his cigarette between two fingers and chewing on his lip as he contemplates what to say next. “I don’t know where we’re going with our relationship.” There’s a double meaning behind those words— Cole hopes that Richie doesn’t notice.

Luckily, it seems to fly over his head. Richie hums. “It’s high school,” he says, shifting to sit next to Cole. “Nothing matters.”

“That implies anything ever matters,” Cole says, his eyes on the ceiling.

Richie shakes his head. “Nothing ever matters.” Another bout of silence. Soon enough, Richie’s staring at him again and their eyes meet. Cole’s throat goes dry— he’s never noticed how _green_ his eyes are. “C’mon, buddy,” Richie says, lifting his arm, “something’s wrong with you today. You’re gloomy, but not _this_ gloomy.”

Cole swallows hard, moving closer to him. With a roll of his eyes, Richie loops his arm around Cole’s shoulders and pulls him in. The gesture catches Cole off-guard— his heart feels like it’s going to burst. “I’m perfectly fine,” he says, and his voice is hoarse.

“No you’re not,” Richie retorts, gazing down at Cole through quizzical eyes. He hums, tilting his head to get a better view, and in the process some of his red hair falls in his face. “Tell me what’s wrong. We’ve known each other since elementary school.”

Cole turns to stone in his gaze, staring right back, frozen. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”

“I couldn’t ever think less of you,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow. “Jeez Louise, you’re really startin’ to worry me now. _Tell me._ ”

 _I want to._ The words crawl up Cole’s throat, turning to ash on his tongue. _I want to tell you. I want to scream it from the rooftops._ He imagines Richie’s reaction— in reality, he’d probably be shocked, even disgusted, but in his mind… in his mind he can only think of _kissing_ him. Cole wants to kiss every freckle on his face, his neck, his shoulders— Hell, he wants to kiss every freckle on every inch of his body. _Hell. That’s right._ He inhales sharply. _I’d go to Hell._

“Cole,” Richie says, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes filled with more concern than Cole’s ever seen. “You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s wrong. Just— tell me you’ll be okay, or something.”

It takes Cole far too long to process his words. He lowers his gaze, frowning deeply as he leans in to rest his head against Richie’s shoulder. “I won’t be okay,” he murmurs, “I’m never okay. I’ve never been okay. None of us have been okay.”

Richie just hums, one hand moving to gently rub Cole’s back. All that does is make him more tense. “You’ll be okay,” he says, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “We’ll all be okay, in the end.”

“When is the end?” Cole asks, wincing at the thought.

Richie stares ahead, fixated on the window. “When we die, I guess.”

“Will we die together?”

“I hope so. You, me, John, Ernie—”

“No,” Cole says, unmoving. He leans a little more into Richie’s hold, letting his eyes slip shut. “Us.”

Richie stops, growing stiff. He continues to stare straight ahead, watching the sun disappear behind roofs and trees and telephone lines. “I have to tell you something, Cole.”

Cole’s heart skips a beat. He pulls away to look Richie in the eyes, eyebrows raised. “What is it?” He asks, almost breathlessly.

Richie holds eye contact for what feels like forever, sitting there in pure silence. Soon, though, he inhales deeply and—

“I’m moving on Tuesday.”

 

* * *

  ****

It’s Wednesday when Marie comes over to visit, sitting on Cole’s bed in silence.

“You loved him,” Marie says softly, as if her words would break him. She doesn’t know how broken he already is; she never will.

Cole watches the sun disappear behind roofs and trees and telephone lines. His voice is barely audible. “As a friend.”

 

* * *

  ****

Two weeks later, Cole receives a letter from Richie.

He never opens it.

 

* * *

 

Marie doesn’t like getting into other people’s emotional baggage. She doesn’t like _other people._ But this is Cole, her… beau, she supposes. She can’t stand to see him upset— not because she gets upset as well, but because it’s pathetic. Her conscience gets snagged on guilt. She shouldn’t think of him as _pathetic,_ but she does. He was never like this— everything changed that night in the car, that night his eyes flashed as if he had come to a sudden realization. About what, she doesn’t know.

She doesn’t _want_ to know.

They’re walking to school together, fingers entwined and empty eyes staring ahead, a visage of romance. “Cole,” she pipes up, “you love him.”

“I don’t,” Cole snaps, sounding too much like her— that tone, that _horrible_ tone, as if he’s watching the world through a lens. A long pause. “Please. I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I saw the letter,” Marie continues, ignoring his growing discomfort. She doesn’t even register him letting go of her hand. “You keep it on your dresser.”

“I never opened it,” Cole says, walking a little faster. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

 _No we’re not._ Breathing a deep sigh, Marie moves to catch up. She doesn’t care enough to fight him on this. “Okay.”


End file.
